I Married a Mob Boss

by Shandi Boyes

  Even in the tenseness of the situation, her statement causes a smile to stretch across my face. Lacey can bring any girl down from the ledge, no matter how dire the situation may seem.

  “He was still present.”

  I keep my reply short, deciding not to elaborate on where Rico was when I woke up.

  “Huh. Must not be a Vegas local?” Lacey jests, her tone crammed with wit.

  I laugh. It’s laced with torment. “From what I witnessed, I'm fairly certain he's a local.” Judge, juror, and executioner local.

  Lacey takes a few moments to gather her bases. "So we have a name, a town, and a non-drunk description. Given to the right people, we should have enough info to track down your husband and file for an annulment," she advises, her mannerisms quickly reverting from life-long friend to third-year law student.

  Her eyes rocket to mine when I mutter, “Already done.”

  “Tracking down your husband or the annulment?” Her words fly out of her mouth in quick succession.

  “The annulment. Rico had his lawyer serve me papers during our trip to the airport.”

  She scoffs. "Wow! What a jerk. Did you seek alimony or request compensation for him being an asshole?"

  “No.” I shake my head.

  Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “It doesn’t matter if you were married for two minutes or two years, Blaire; alimony terms should have been included in your settlement.”

  “They were.” I say anything to lessen her furious scowl burning into me. “Rico stipulated an amount he was willing to pay. Even though I didn’t agree with the amount he was offering, I signed the forms.”

  She stands from her seated position and rests her hands on her tiny hips. “You never sign a legal document without having a lawyer present, Blaire. How many times have I stated this?” She crosses her arms over her chest and bores her eyes into mine. “What amount did you agree to?”

  She falls back into her seat when I breathe out, “Two million dollars.”

  “Who the hell did you marry?” Her disbelieving eyes bounce between mine. “A prince from Saudi Araba?”

  “He seemed like a Prince. Just not one from any fairytales we’ve read.”

  Chapter 6

  The remainder of my weekend was spent holed up in my apartment. Although Lacey was apprehensive about my short replies to her grilling set of questions, she did agree that the dissolution of my Vegas wedding was handled in the best manner for both parties involved. It was quick and resolute. Just like every Vegas wedding ends. If only the nicks in my heart could be handled as swiftly.

  Adjusting the heavy book satchel on my shoulder, I continue sauntering down the corridor of Ravenshoe Primary School. The chatter of little voices sounds through my ears, and the smell of dirty faces lingers in the air. I enjoyed summer break, but I can't wait to get back to work. This may sound a little geeky, but I missed seeing the smiling faces of my students the past few weeks. There's nothing more beautiful than the innocence in a child’s wide gaze.

  My strides down the hallway slow when I notice Timothy Jamison leaning in the doorjamb of his third-grade class. He’s staring at me in a bemused, disarrayed type of way. My heart rate quickens. I really hope I didn’t make a fool out of myself in front of him last weekend.

  Timothy was nominated beside me for the Teacher of the Year award. We flew on the same flight to Vegas but were seated several rows away from each other. Due to my failing memory, I don’t know whether to offer him my commiserations, congratulations, or an apology.

  Deciding that avoidance is the best remedy for Las Vegas idiocy, I smile a greeting to Timothy before slipping into my classroom three doors up from his. Warmth blooms across my chest when I spot a large red apple sitting on the corner of my desk next to several hand-picked daisies from the front garden of the school. I’m certain the children in my class this year will be absolute sweethearts. I'm always smitten with my class members, I don't care if I have to wipe smelly bottoms for the next sixty years; nothing beats seeing the smiles on my students’ faces when they arrive for class every Monday morning.

  My mom was a teacher for over thirty years. She loved each of her students as much as I do. It was watching the way she nurtured her rebellious teenage students to become upstanding young adults that made me want to be a teacher as well. But unlike my mom, I want to shape their minds before they are affected by outside influences.

  Kindergarten students don't understand violence, hate or racism. All they care about is whether Peter Rabbit is ever caught by Mr. McGregor and how many minutes remain until lunch. Seeing the innocence in a child's eyes is a truly magnificent sight, and I want them to hold onto that innocence for as long as possible.

  I'm halfway through my first lesson of the day when the excitement on my students’ faces grows exponentially. Smiling at their pleased reaction, I shift my eyes back to the book I'm reading them. My lips quirk. Although the story about the fluffy penguin seeking a new set of friends is riveting, I'm still surprised by my students’ wide-mouthed response.

  Shrugging off their odd behavior as excitement for the upcoming lunch break, I continue reading. I lose sight of the words scribbled across the page when all twenty-three of my students crank their necks back to peer at something behind my shoulder.

  Swallowing to relieve my parched throat, I place the book on my lap and twist my body around. The shocked expression my students are wearing morphs onto my face when I discover who’s holding their interest. Rico has his backside propped on the edge of my desk, grasping my red apple in his hand.

  Despite the weather being considerably warm, he’s decked out in a full suit and black trench coat. His face has been recently shaven, but his five o'clock shadow remains even though it's not even noon. His eyes are rapt on me, and he looks deliriously handsome and dangerous at the same time.

  A handful of girls in my class squeal when Rico takes a big bite of my apple, sending a crunching sound bouncing around my class.

  Clutching my chest to ensure my pounding heart doesn’t escape my chest cavity, I shift my eyes to Mina, my teacher’s aide. “Can you please continue reading the story to the children? I’ll be right back.”

  Not waiting for her to reply, I scamper out of my seat, grasp Rico’s hand in mine, and dash into the corridor. The children’s eyes track Rico and me the entire time, their expressions a mix of confusion and excitement.

  The instant we step into the corridor, I release Rico’s hand. From the throbbing ache between my legs, you’d swear I wasn’t simply holding his hand. Just like last week, sparks of energy bounce between us, bristling the fine hairs on my nape and swelling my heart.

  “What are you doing here, Rico?” I ask, incredulity heard in my tone.

  He doesn’t respond. He just runs his eyes over my outfit, absorbing my knee-length floral skirt, fitted lemon-colored blouse, and modest white sandals. If I didn’t know he’d already seen me naked, I’d swear he was wondering what I’m trying to hide under my goody-two-shoes outfit. He wouldn’t be the first man to accuse me of ‘hiding my appeal with dowdy clothes.’

  “Ah, Kitten, you’re every teenage boy’s naughty teacher fantasy.”

  My pulse quickens when his heavy-hooded gaze connects with mine. His eyes are dark and dangerous, but innocent and beautiful at the same time. Don’t ask me how that's even possible as I wouldn’t be able to answer.

  The throb between my legs intensifies when he mutters, “You look fuckable and sweet at the same time. Two complete contradictions.”

  “I could say the same thing about you,” I reply before my brain has the chance to voice a protest.

  A flash of excitement brightens his dark eyes and makes me hot and needy.

  Striving to lead our conversation back into chartered waters, I say, “I meant the two contradictions part. Not that you look fuckable.”

  The excitement flaring in his eyes doesn’t waver. He knows as well as I do, there's no truth in my statement. He wouldn’t wield the type of
confidence he has without having the reputation to back it up. He knows he’s so gorgeous, he merely needs to snap his fingers and women would flock to his feet. That’s why I find it somewhat surprising he’s standing in the hallway outside my classroom, looking at me in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of—like I'm his savior.

  Talking through a lump in my throat, I ask again, “What are you doing here, Rico?”

  I can feel the heat of his tense gaze studying my profile before he mutters, “I need you to come back to Vegas with me.”

  Speaking through the shockwaves rocketing through my body, I protest, “What? No! I can’t… Why do you want me to come back?” I roll my eyes when the last sentence comes with too much neediness clinging to my words.

  “You witnessed an event last weekend.” His eyes darken with every word he speaks. "In my industry, there are no witnesses."

  I balk. “W-what d-do you mean there are no witnesses?”

  I’m a stuttering idiot, but I can't help it. My heart was last seen somewhere in the region of my shoes, and even with my brain stuck in a lust-crazed haze, I felt the shift of air between us. It’s gone from steaming with yearning to roasting with danger.

  My heavy breaths increase when he tilts in close to my side. Even frightened, I can’t deny my body’s signals; it's riveted by the man standing in front of me. In absolute awe.

  My body’s desire to overrule my astute brain flies out the window when Rico explains, "You either come back with me to Vegas as my wife, or they kill you." His words are straightforward and direct, ensuring there's no way I can misinterpret what he's saying.

  “They?” I squeak out, my voice as high as the hairs on my forearms.

  “My family,” he replies, the timbre of his tone lowering.

  When he lifts his eyes to peer past my shoulder, I follow his gaze. Two men in matching black suits stand side-by-side filling the double fire doors at the end of the corridor. The width of their combined shoulders is enough to block the late morning sun beaming into the hall.

  I swing my eyes back to Rico. “If they’re your family, why can’t you call them off? Why can’t you—”

  “I’ve already tried.” He glances at me with the same vivacity I saw in my flashback last week. “This is the only option I have left. If you're my wife, they won’t touch you. But if you refuse to come with me, my hands will be tied.”

  My nose tingles as fresh tears prick into my eyes. Even if his eyes weren’t relaying the truth, I’ve watched enough True Crime America to know I should believe him. Witnesses are the most critical element in any case. Without them, there's no case. But I can’t just pack up and leave. I have commitments, a life… an ex-husband.

  A thick cloud of despair hovers over my head. “We already signed the annulment papers. Your money was wired into my account first thing Monday morning. We’re no longer married.”

  "The money was transferred, but the paperwork has not yet been filed.”

  I take a step backward, flabbergasted. "Why didn't you file the paperwork?"

  I try to keep excitement out of my voice. My attempts are borderline. My reaction can’t be helped. With his eagerness to have our annulment papers signed, I assumed he would have filed them the very next morning.

  His dark eyes dance between mine before he mutters, “For the same reason you didn’t let your friend throw you into the pool. If you were planning on having your tattoo removed, any concerns about it fading wouldn’t have been an issue.”

  My heart beats triple time, equally shocked and excited. “You’ve been watching me?!”

  "I've been protecting you." A shiver runs down my spine from the edge of danger in his tone. He takes another step closer to me, engulfing my hay-wired senses with his delicious spicy scent. "I'm trying to keep you safe, Kitten, but this is as far as I can go. You either come back with me to Vegas or die. The choice is yours."

  "What type of choice is that? I either go with a murderer or be murdered," I blubber out before I can stop my hurtful words.

  When Rico’s face lines with anger, I wish I could ram my callousness back down my throat.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, my tone sincere. “But you have to understand, this is all a little bit crazy. I'm a kindergarten teacher, and you're a. . .” My words trail off when I fail to find a word to explain who he is.

  “If you want to live, as far as anyone is concerned, I'm your husband.”

  My stomach flips. I can’t tell if it's from concern or because he's still my husband. I can barely breathe, let alone work out my body’s crazy prompts.

  “Are you sure there's no other viable option?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge the absurdity of my excitement.

  Despair clouds his eyes before he shakes his head. Leaning against a stack of lockers on my right, I gulp in large breaths of air. My nostrils flare as they fight to fill my burning lungs. If I don’t secure a full breath soon, I'm going to pass out.

  I spread my hands across my hips and bend over. After saying something to the gentlemen standing at the end of the hall in Russian, Rico places his hand on the curve of my back and crouches down in front of me, meeting me eye to eye. Any chance of regaining my composure is lost when I look into his beautiful, yet dangerous eyes.

  "If I had any other choice, Kitten, I’d take it. I don't have any other option." His words are gruff, but his eyes relay the truth of his statement.

  After sucking in a deep breath, I quickly mumble, “I understand, but I can’t just pack up my life and leave with you. I have obligations, an apartment, my students.”

  “Everything has been taken care of.” He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. I use it to soak up the tears on my cheeks as he continues speaking, “Mr. Rodchester was happy to grant you an extended leave of absence. The rent for your apartment has been paid in full for a year, and your parents just discovered they were the fortunate winners of an all-expenses paid three-month tour of Europe.”

  My jaw muscle slackens as my heart rate skyrockets. “How did you get Mr. Rodchester to give me time off?”

  The rest of his statement makes sense. They seem like an easy fix. But Mr. Rodchester governs Ravenshoe Primary with an iron fist. When I called in sick with the flu last semester, he couriered a mountainload of papers to my apartment for me to grade. He does not believe in sick days and never approves time off outside of the standard school vacation schedule. He's such a stiff, I was only given a measly two hours off to attend my great aunt’s funeral last year.

  The swirling of my squishy stomach escalates when Rico replies, "My men are very persuasive."

  I straighten my spine when he shifts his gaze sideways. The man standing at the end of the hall doesn’t speak a peep, but his eyes must be forthcoming as Rico nods before turning his dark gaze back to me. I inhale a sharp breath, unnerved by the blackness filling his eyes.

  “We have to leave now,” he instructs, his monotone voice conveying the urgency of his statement.

  I nod, giving in to the fact there's no other option. If I want to stay alive, I have to place my trust in a man who equally intrigues and intimidates me.

  “Can I say goodbye to my class?” I ask Rico, my chin quivering.

  His eyes drift between mine for several heart-clutching seconds before he nods. A grateful sigh spills from my lips as I run my hands across my blemished cheeks. I don’t want my students to see me upset.

  The hum of young voices dulls to a slight buzz when I swing open my class door. My strides into the room fumble when my eyes lock in on Mr. Rodchester standing at the back of the room. His eyes are wide, his pupils massive, and his entire composure screams of nothing but fear. I would not normally condone an act of violence, but I'm glad to see karma finally caught up to Mr. Rodchester.

  Overlooking the fact a man who typically shows no emotion looks like a frightened child, I lower my eyes to my students sitting on the carpet in front of my desk. Twenty-three tiny faces peer up at me, gawking and shocked. Like they can
sense a change in my composure, they stand from their seated position and swarm around me.

  A barrage of emotions slam into me as I bid farewell to each member of my class with a brief cuddle and an assuring word that I’ll be back as soon as I can. My last embrace with a little boy named Jeremiah goes a bit longer than the ones before him. Jeremiah holds a special place in my heart after the rough start he has endured this year. His mom was arrested for conspiracy to commit a crime just before Christmas. Although her day in court has not yet happened, the events leading to her arrest have taken their toll on him.

  “I’ll be back soon, Jeremiah.” I peer into his ocean blue eyes.

  “Okay, Ms. Williams.”

  After running my finger over the dimple in the middle of his chin to remove a smudge of dirt, I stand from my crouched position. Rico has gathered my handbag and book satchel from the bottom drawer of my desk, so there's nothing left for me to do but walk out of my classroom.

  Why does the simplest act have the greatest impact to my already pained heart?

  Chapter 7

  The twenty-minute trip to my apartment is made in silence. The mask Rico wears in front of the members of his crew slipped into place the instant we entered the back of a black Escalade. The mood is somber, but there's still a weird crackling of energy in the air adding to the confusion of my pained heart.

  The only good thing about the lack of ambiance is that it gives me plenty of time to study the man seated next to me. Taken out of the life and death situation I've been placed in, I can wholeheartedly understand my attraction to Rico. He has gloriously thick hair, a straight and defined nose, and lips that are too beautiful to ever spill the vicious words he has no doubt spoken in his short twenty-four years. And his eyes… my goodness! They are dark and beautiful but look like they are guarding a lifetime of secrets. He's night and day rolled into one strikingly handsome and complicated man.

  When the Escalade pulls onto the curb of my apartment building, I run my hand down the front of my blouse. Two scantily dressed women with blown out hair flock in close to the vehicle. They twist chewing gum around their fingers as they rake their sullied eyes down the length of Rico's body when he curls out of the back seat of the Escalade. After securing the button on his suit jacket, Rico dips his torso back into the vehicle to offer me a hand out. His kind gesture reinforces what I already know deep down in my soul: there's something more to this man than just cloaked darkness.